


Two Secret Agents, One Duck Pond, No Bookstore

by tuesday



Category: Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Community: lgbtfest, LGBTQ Character, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-30
Updated: 2009-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen's never intended to be in the closet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Secret Agents, One Duck Pond, No Bookstore

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://bessemerprocess.livejournal.com/profile)[**bessemerprocess**](http://bessemerprocess.livejournal.com/) for pre-reading and the title and also to [amadi](http://amadi.dreamwidth.org) for betaing.

Stephen wanted someone to say it, wanted an interviewer to ask.

"What's it like, being a straight male playing queer characters?"

They'd asked actors before, as offensive as Stephen usually found the questions and the answers. It seemed almost a required question.

"How did it feel to kiss a man?"

Like a man kissing other men was something strange, something to be avoided.

But still, Stephen wanted someone to ask.

He wanted someone to ask so he could tell them.

—

They met at the duck pond every third Saturday of the month, unless it was a holiday or so cold that Jon started wheezing and Stephen suggested moving to a coffee shop. The first time was a _Daily Show_ picnic for the crews and their families. Jon had quietly withdrawn from the shelter to lurk by the pond, staring at the ducks, and Stephen had grabbed some of the extra hot dog buns and walked up next to him.

"There are perfectly good benches," Stephen said.

Jon looked startled at Stephen's presence, then smiled suddenly. "That would mean a few seconds delay when I inevitably needed to flee."

"You're that worried about one of us cornering you for conversation?" Stephen said, and he was smiling, too, but he felt a little stung.

"Not you." Jon hiked a thumb at the ducks, previously milling about, but edging closer now that they'd caught sight of Stephen's bread. "Ducks can be vicious. I saw a man lose an arm to a flock once."

"It's a good thing I thought ahead and brought a gift to placate them," Stephen said.

"You're my hero," Jon said, putting a hand over his heart.

"Oh, no, you're on your own, breadless boy." Stephen clutched the buns close. "If you think I'm sacrificing my safety net for a mere boss, you are sadly mistaken."

"What about a friend?" Jon asked, and his smile was almost like an olive branch extended. Jon was friendly, but reclusive (was still, even now, friendly, but reclusive; a man who valued his privacy), and Stephen was almost surprised to see that Jon meant it.

"Well, maybe," Stephen said, stretching his smile to lecherous, "for a _special_ friend."

"That's not exactly a fair offer," Jon said.

"I have been told I am a fine catch," Stephen scoffed.

"That may be," Jon said. "But even if the ducks don't kill me, Evie will."

Stephen turned to look at where Evie was chatting excitedly with Steven, waving her hands expansively. His smile turned genuine again. "You're probably right," Stephen said and threw Jon one of the buns.

"I'm definitely right," Jon said.

"But I would totally be worth it," Stephen said, ripping up one of the buns and tossing it into the horde of ducks that had gathered at their feet. Two ducks fought over a larger piece, tearing it in two and gulping it down.

"She'd kill you, too, you know," Jon said, dropping his own bite-sized chunks of bread into the crowd.

"She would," Stephen said, and he couldn't help his pleased tone.

Jon laughed. "You're a dangerous man to know, Stephen Colbert."

"What can I say? I like to live on the edge." Stephen threw the rest of the bread down and wandered back to the picnic area.

—

Before Stephen met Evie, he was the best of friends with—a _special_ friend of—Paul and Amy. When he first met them, he thought Amy was the funniest person in the world, and Paul was the biggest asshole he'd ever known. By the time they'd finished their first road tour with Second City together, Stephen knew they were both hilarious, both assholes, and some of the best friends he would ever have.

Before he joined Second City, Stephen had fallen hard for exactly three people in the course of his life. Jessie Peters was a friend in high school, and she'd had the weirdest laugh, almost kind of a cackling giggle. Coaxing it out of her, Stephen had thought, would have been a worthy life goal. She went to California for college, and from there, who knew. Richard Crouch was one of the theater kids at Northwestern, and he was absolutely, heartbreakingly straight. The girls ate him up with a spoon, and Stephen watched from the sidelines.

Stephen met Jean in Europe, and Stephen had been tempted, so very tempted to stay.

"I have a fiancee," Jean had admitted one night, lying together in Jean's apartment.

Stephen left for Germany the very next day.

When he returned to the U.S., he thought he was done falling for people he couldn't really have. And then one very, very drunk night, Amy had kissed his neck, and Paul had kissed his mouth, and, well—

Stephen had been so in love with them that he'd thought they could make it work, the three of them, never mind he'd previously thought himself monogamous. It was just his luck that though they loved him dearly, they were only in love with each other.

When a friend had a friend who had a friend they thought was perfect for Stephen, he mostly went on the blind date so he wouldn't look quite so pathetic always being Paul and Amy's third wheel.

—

Evie wasn't love at first sight, but she was fun, funny, and had a minor obsession with musical theater. They clicked instantly. They went to a coffee shop after the movie and spent over three hours just talking, carried away, until the owner threw them out so she could close up shop.

"This discussion isn't over," Evie had said, pointing a finger at Stephen.

"About that, at least, you're right," Stephen replied, grinning, and Evie had scowled and smiled and written her number with a ballpoint across the back of his left hand.

The next day, Paul asked, voice casual, "How'd it go?" and Amy had laughed at Stephen's attempt to explain their conversation about the heart of musical theater.

"Invite us to the wedding," Amy said, teasing.

Several months later, Stephen did.

—

Stephen couldn't always tell who knew. He hadn't been in the closet since Northwestern, but neither had he worn a sign, made any sort of big deal about his sexuality. He'd heard Rachel Maddow put up flyers all over her college campus, but Stephen had just taken a lot of queer roles and pushed for his productions to include more. He thought everyone would assume, that he wouldn't have to tell them.

They did assume, but they never made the right assumptions.

—

The second time Stephen met Jon at the duck pond, Jon was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap as if that would stop people from recognizing him. This time, they sat on a bench, and Jon had brought a loaf of bread.

"We should've worn suits," Jon said.

"Hm?" Stephen asked. He'd pitched a whole slice of bread, frisbee-style through the air, and no less than five ducks were squabbling over it. One had attempted to grab the whole slice and waddle toward the water, but two ducks had cut it off, and two more trapped it from behind.

Jon waved a hand as if to encompass the whole scenario. "Two people meeting in secrecy at a duck pond, secret agent style."

"It's not really secret if people know where we are," Stephen said.

"You told Evie you were coming?" Jon said. "But now how will I seduce you, knowing she's waiting in the bushes, knife in hand?"

Stephen laughed. "Hiding isn't really Evie's style." After a moment, he said, "I like to think we're more like Aziraphale and Crowley."

"With less sexual tension," Jon said, "and we don't have a Bentley or bookstore."

"I was going to buy both, but Evie shot me down. Something about how kids are expensive enough, and we need to buy groceries."

—

Stephen never really felt guilty spending time with Jon the way he did with Paul and Amy. When he left every third Saturday for the park, Evie would smile and say, "Have fun on your man-date."

When he went to see Paul and Amy outside of work, Evie would also smile, but she'd say something like, "Don't stay out too late," or "I trust you," even if only with her eyes, the quirk of her lips that said, "I'm worried about you." Stephen was faithful—they both knew he was faithful. But he still felt echoes of what he used to feel; his past with Paul and Amy had cast a shadow over his heart.

Jon, though—Stephen couldn't even tell if Jon knew that it could've been an option, years ago, before he'd met Evie and finally, slowly fallen in love with someone actually attainable. Jon and Stephen's joking flirtations didn't mean much at all.

—

 

"I want you to meet my parents," Evie said after two months of dating, and Stephen had said yes before he could think about it.

They didn't make it halfway through dinner before they both regretted it. Evie's mother had said several times how glad she was that Evie had finally found a decent man, and Evie's cheeks were shaded a dark pink Stephen had never seen her turn before.

Evie's father was more specific, said, "I'm glad to see she's found someone who shares her interest in musical theater and isn't one of those nancy boy fags."

"Dad!" Evie said, standing.

Stephen just winced, staring down at the spaghetti still steaming on his plate.

"It's true," her dad said, and Evie had grabbed Stephen's wrist.

"We're leaving."

"Sweetie, just because—" her mother had started.

"I don't want to hear it. I thought you—" Evie stopped tugging Stephen out of the room and said, "You can call me later, but I don't want to talk to you right now."

On the drive home, Evie said, "I should have told you sooner, but—but I'm bisexual. Pansexual. I don't know." She waved a hand that wasn't on the wheel. "I don't care as much about gender as I do about personality."

Stephen started to speak, but Evie held up a hand.

"I, um. All my best friends have been gay, too. That's what Dad was talking about. He could never get that we weren't dating, that the girls I brought home were the ones I was dating, not the guys." Evie's eyes looked shiny in the headlights of passing cars and she sniffed once, but she wasn't crying. "If you're not okay with that—" She stopped speaking and looked at him for just an instant before returning her eyes to the road. "If you're not okay with that, then I'm not okay with you."

"Can I speak now?" Stephen asked.

"Not if you're going to be a bigot," Evie said.

"I am warmed by your faith in me," Stephen said dryly.

"Sorry." Evie waved a hand again.

Stephen cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I, uh. An interest in theater isn't the only thing we have in common."

Evie turned to stare at him for a long moment, until Stephen waved a hand at the windshield and said, "The road, Evie, the _road_."

Evie turned back to the road and blurted out, hands gripping the wheel tightly now, "I really, really like you."

Stephen proposed three months later.

—

David Sedaris came to visit his sister while Stephen was over once. He had a key to Amy's apartment, and when he'd come in the door, Stephen, Amy, and Paul were all sprawled together on the couch like cats curling together. David's eyes were full of speculation as he said, "So are you—"

Amy patted Stephen's hair as she said, "It's not like that."

"He's married now," Paul said.

"Oh," David said.

Stephen closed his eyes and didn't say anything at all.

—

Stephen could never quite tell what most frustrated him. That people once thought as a bisexual that it meant he was willing to sleep with anyone, or that now that he was in a monogamous relationship with a woman, nearly everyone thought he counted as straight.

—

"Does it ever get to you?" Stephen asked Evie, lying in bed together.

"If someone asks, I tell them," Evie said. "And everyone important already knows."

Stephen rested his head on her shoulder, contemplating. "They'd think I was joking," Stephen said.

"Probably," Evie said. "But you can keep correcting them."

—

Stephen's next magazine interview, he didn't wait to be asked. He said, "Growing up, I always hoped for more bisexual visibility in the media."

He said, "I don't know if I would make a good role model, but I'd like to try."

He said, "I think it's possible to reconcile your faith and good humor with your sexual identity."

He said, "Yes, my wife and I are very happy together."

He said, smiling, "I don't know if I would really call it courageous, coming out, if I was trying to keep out of the closet in the first place."

—

The next day was a Saturday, the third Saturday, and Stephen went to the park. Jon was already waiting, and he was holding a loaf of wheat bread this time.

"They're putting on a little weight," Jon said. "I thought I'd try a diet."

"If they don't get it from you, they'll go looking elsewhere for the good stuff," Stephen said, sitting down. "Do you really want to take responsibility if they end up dead on the street from trying something impure?"

Jon laughed. "You did not just compare bread with drugs."

"To the ducks, it's the same thing."

The ducks liked the wheat bread just as well, scarfing it down and fighting amongst themselves, even as Jon said, "Hey, hey, there's enough for everyone."

"You are definitely Aziraphale," Stephen said.

"You just want the nice car," Jon said.

"Yes," Stephen agreed. "But you know you would've given away the flaming sword in a moment of pity."

"Maybe," Jon said. "But you'd do the same."

They tossed bread for a few more minutes in silence.

Stephen said, "Jon, you—you know, right?"

Jon quirked a smile at Stephen. "What, that you are secretly madly in love with me, but can't admit it because your colleagues would kill you for such a weak emotion?"

Stephen stared at one of the brown ducks, ignoring the hubbub of the others' feeding frenzy to preen his feathers. "I think people are weak, not love," Stephen said eventually. He looked at Jon, who seemed to get that Stephen wasn't in the mood for joking about _Good Omens_ anymore.

"I know," Jon said. He gently kicked Stephen's foot with his own, more a nudge, really. "For the record, I think Evie's better for you than Paul."

Stephen didn't know what to say to that, so he said, "You're only saying that because you're afraid of Evie in the bushes with a machete."

"She's upgraded from knives?" Jon asked.

Stephen smiled. "Sure. She considered a chainsaw, but it would've been too noisy, given the game away."

"She's a formidable woman, your wife," Jon said, grinning.

"Like Tracey wouldn't do the same."

Jon threw the last of the bread in the center of the duck crowd, then emptied the crumbs in front of the bench. "You may be right," Jon said.

—

"I think," Stephen said, "that maybe I need to spend less time with the two of you."

Amy said, "You don't need to break up with us, Stephen."

"That already happened ages ago," Paul said.

"Just because I married someone else doesn't mean I got over it," Stephen said. Then, "I love Evie, but—"

"But?" Amy said, crossing her arms and looking like she might push Stephen out of the apartment herself if the conversation took a wrong turn.

"You broke up," Stephen said, "but you still." He took a deep breath, because this was one of those things they didn't talk about. ""You still love each other. You're still together."

Paul rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. Amy smiled, but it was a little broken.

"Like you said," Amy said. "Some things you don't quite get over."

Paul looked thoughtful as he stared at Stephen. "And that's why you need distance."

"Getting married doesn't mean you fall out of love with everyone else," Stephen said. "It just means you choose which person to be with."

"We'll miss you," Amy said when they hugged goodbye.

"I'm not leaving town," Stephen said.

"But you are leaving."

Stephen couldn't argue with that.

—

Evie actually laminated the article and put it up on the refrigerator with the coupons and their kids' pictures and drawings.

Maddie said, "My friend Molly at school told me—" She paused, as if trying to remember the exact words her friend had used.

Stephen took a deep breath. Their children knew, had always known, but that didn't change the reactions of their friends, the other kids at school. Evie shot him a reassuring look from by the oven, where she was checking on Stephen's latest attempt at pot roast.

"She said she thought you were a good role model, that she was adding you to her wall with Lindsay Lohan and Neil Patrick Harris."

Stephen let the breath out slow and smiled. "Lindsay Lohan, huh?"

"And Neil Patrick Harris," Maddie said. "Tom tried to say he didn't count, because he's always playing straight guys, but we schooled him."

Stephen kissed the top of her head and said, "Good kid."

"_Dad_," Maddie said, scrunching up her face. "I'm not five anymore."

"No," Stephen agreed. "You're not."

Then he called in John and Peter to set the table. Evie had nodded to indicate that it looked edible this time. It was a Monday night, which meant a family dinner with Stephen in charge of cooking. The only major difference tonight was that maybe they wouldn't have to order in pizza.


End file.
